


It's all a charade (but we're both serious)

by traumschwinge



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Conspiracy, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Flirting, Intrigue, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 10:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30003708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: Geralt's childish tendencies had gotten him into trouble more than once before, but getting dragged into one of Emhyr's schemes as punishment was a new kind of trouble, even for him. Not that it he was sure whether that's bad or not. At least, he got part of what he was after right away and he would be spending a lot more time with Ciri, too.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this was the first fic I started to write for this pairing, ever, and that might be reflected in the text. I will edit each of what I deem chapters (probably) but there might be stuff I can't fix without pulling the whole thing apart. I think? Idk, look, it's a story I want to finish and I need the occasional kick in the butt for that.

Ciri closed the door behind her and suddenly Geralt was alone with Emhyr. They were both still in their overly fancy party outfits. It had all happened so fast. Geralt had taken a cup out of Ciri's hands when he caught a whiff of something odd from it. A quick sniff had confirmed the wine had been poisoned. When he had told her so, guards had pushed the Emperor and the Crown Princess into an empty nearby room. Geralt had somehow been swept up in it. 

And now Ciri had left him. Alone. With Emhyr.

He still wasn’t sure he even liked the man and every time they met it was so awkward, even if Emhyr wasn’t swarmed by what seemed like a thousand supplicants. Geralt had no idea how to behave. If he tried to behave, Emhyr would pull down the corners of his mouth ever so slightly to signal his displeasure and when he didn’t behave, everyone else was glaring flaming daggers at him. There just was no winning for Geralt.

“Yet again, you saved my daughter and me, witcher.” Even the formal way Emhyr talked kept irking Geralt. “Is there anything left I can give to thank you?”

“Nah, don’t think so.” He hadn’t wanted most of the rewards anyway and this time, he’d reacted on instinct and to save Ciri. A reward couldn’t have been further from his mind.

Emhyr sighed softly. “I feared this would be your answer. In that case, the only appropriate reward I can offer is my gratitude. Would that be acceptable for you?”

Geralt shrugged. He had no idea what to do with an emperor’s gratitude and with Emhyr’s gratitude in particular, but at least it wasn’t another estate or title.

Only, instead of saying thanks like a normal person, Emhyr suddenly leaned into Geralt’s personal space. Before Geralt had time to overcome his shock, Emhyr pressed a peck to his cheek. Two thoughts reached Geralt’s mind at almost the same time: He had no idea how to react so freezing was probably appropriate; and Emhyr had just kissed him without any hesitation out of his own volition without any audience he might have wished to fool.

“Have I misstepped?” Somehow, despite a lack of change to his tone, Emhyr managed to sound put out in Geralt’s ears. “Cirilla assured me, this was the apt way to express thanks to a witcher.”

“Did she now?” A smile was forcing itself on Geralt’s face. So this had been Ciri’s doing. That explained parts of it, but not all. “And why did you believe her? No, wait, why did you do it?” Before Emhyr could come up with a response, Geralt concluded with a growing grin: “You like me.”

“Nonsense.”

“You liiiike me. And Ciri knows. Did you tell her?”

“Even if you were correct, why would I tell her something like that?”

Geralt was delighted by Ciri’s observational skills. Once she would use them for more than messing with her father and Geralt, they would make her a force to be feared at court. “It kinda makes sense you’d like me. I’m not at all afraid of you. That has to be new to you. And I already know so much about you, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“Insufferable,” Emhyr muttered. “You’re reading much too much into a simple expression of gratitude.”

“Do I really?” On a whim, Geralt snatched Emhyr’s hand and pulled him close. It was probably a cause for execution, but he hoped that if he made Emhyr truly mad, Ciri would save him. Emhyr didn’t struggle against the grip. Geralt could hear his heart speed up a little. “Tell me,” Geralt whispered, his lips just a breath from Emhyr’s own.

“Unhand me this instant,” Emhyr hissed.

Disappointed, Geralt dropped his hand and stepped back. He shook his head. “Wrong answer, Emhyr, wrong answer.” Not that he had particularly wanted them to kiss. But now that he was thinking about it, he was curious about what it would be like. “Let me know if you ever decide to be honest.” He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but he couldn’t help it. For a second he’d had hoped for... something. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the loss of that hope. When Emhyr didn’t respond to him, he took the easy way out. He fled the room to find Ciri.

Emhyr didn’t stop him.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Geralt passed Emhyr in one of the hallways, he whispered "You looove me" just for Emhyr to hear. Some of the people around them might have heard it, too, but the deadly glare he received from Emhyr made it clear that it wouldn't be that easy. 

He tried again anyway. And again. And again, when thrice still wasn't enough.

After a week, the first rumors reached Geralt. Apparently, they were involved in a slightly tragic, thirty year old romance and now Geralt had bared his feelings only to hear Emhyr deny his. Ciri laughed herself off the couch when Geralt told her about the rumors in detail.

Frustratingly, Emhyr had switched strategies. As glares didn't work on Geralt, he was now blatantly ignoring him. That only led to Geralt getting louder with his teasing. Ciri called them both children to Geralt's face for it.

Around week three after the incident, not that Geralt was counting, the rumors were starting to get out of hand. Wherever he went, Geralt was ambushed by nobles and merchants, offering their help to “patch things up with his lover”. Even if he had been tempted to employ anybody’s help, he’d have gone to Ciri instead of earning Emhyr’s ire for real by allying himself with an enemy by accident.

When Geralt hinted to Ciri that he was thinking about leaving because of the whole circus the court had turned into, she looked disappointed. She was still a fast learner and copying Emhyr was serving her annoyingly well. It took her only a single look to make it clear beyond any shadow of a doubt that if he ran from the mess he had caused she wouldn’t forgive him.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Geralt whined when Ciri had managed to free up an evening to spend with him alone. They’d had dinner, which had been nice, and were now sitting in front of the fireplace in the drawing room of Geralt’s guest suite. “Everyone treats me like I’m the golden key to the Empire now.”

“You brought this on yourself.”

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what? Imitate father?” Ciri grinned. “Or telling you that it’s your own fault you’re in this situation?”

“Both,” Geralt grumbled. “So what do I do now?”

“Good question. Asking father for help is out of the question?” When Geralt pulled a face, she shrugged. “Just checking. Fine. Well, first, you could stop flirting like a child.”

With a harumph, Geralt crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I do not flirt like a child.”

“Geralt.” Ciri shot him another unimpressed look. “If my father had pigtails you would be pulling them.”

Just to get the mental image out of his head, Geralt forced himself to think about the adult way of courting. He’d seen it often enough. Sadly, convincing Emhyr’s parents was out of the question for obvious reasons and he wasn’t entirely sure Emhyr even liked flowers, or any other gifts, which, as Ciri had told him, would have to go through Mererid anyway if he followed protocol. That didn’t leave him with much. “Should I drop a trophy at his feet?” Geralt ventured. There had to be a wyvern or griffin or some beast somewhere within a week’s ride. There usually was. At least while hunting it he would know what the hell he was doing. He was drowning at court.

Ciri considered the idea for a moment. “I don’t think that’ll work. We’re not in Toussaint. Or do you want to start a new trend in courting rituals?”

“People would imitate that?” Geralt’s eyes widened at shock. “But they know monsters are dangerous!”

“So is courting Emhyr and that doesn’t stop people either.” Ciri shook her head. “You’re aware that he siccs spies on everyone even remotely close to flirting with him? Anyway, if the Emperor is impressed, so is the entirety of court and thus most of the Empire. You can’t win in public.”

“I am aware of the spies, thank you.” Geralt reconsidered for a moment. “Well, he was spying on me before, but it’s gotten to a new low since the incident. So, what would be appropriate?”

“Nothing. You are not appropriate by any courtly standards, _Sir_ Geralt.” Ciri waved her hand. “Lucky for you, neither of you cares much for court customs. And that’s real luck, because a newly landed knight of a vassal state is so low in the pecking order you shouldn’t even be here. I know you’re family, no need to tell me, but to make that stick there’d be so many laws that needed to be bent. You’re at best, according to court, a little better than a beloved nursemaid.” Ciri stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m getting good at court nastiness, right?” She stretched. “You could start by being nice to him.”

“Nice like what?” Knowing Emhyr, that could range from actually being nice to torturing his enemies and foiling a bunch of plots against him.

“Stop publicly embarrassing him. Seriously. Stop it.” Ciri sighed. “It’s not making anyone’s life easier. Spend some time with him. Alone. Or with me, if you need the excuse. Did you know he spends most of his evenings reading by himself in his study? I check in on him whenever I have the time but that can't be healthy. Annoy him in private. Play Gwent. Help empty the wine cellar if you have to. Or just… be there.”

Geralt rubbed his hands over his face. When Ciri put it like this, the whole thing seemed so simple. And more than a little pathetic. Two lonely people trying to be less lonely together. Rationally, everyone else would be better. Or so Geralt wanted to convince himself. “...do you really think it’s a good idea? The whole thing, I mean.” 

“I started it. I didn’t think it’d escalate as it did, but…” Ciri took a deep breath. “You might be good for each other. Father is… a decent person at heart when you get to know him. I might even start to like him… and… It’s weird, alright? I didn’t think I’d ever have to care about him like this.”

Geralt nudged her shoulder. “And that’s all?”

“I also get to spend more time with you.” She sighed. “But I mostly think it would do you both good. At least you see each other as equals and that’s not something either of you ever gets treated as. You know?” She hugged Geralt. “I want what I think is best for you both.”

Geralt returned the hug. “Alright. I’ll try.”

* * *

Geralt spent the next evening pacing in his room. He knew he'd promised Ciri to try, but going to Emhyr, without reason or an invitation... it seemed a bit much now that he was alone and had a chance to overthink it. By the time he had worked up the nerve to go and had convinced himself this wasn't the stupidest thing he'd ever done, it was well into the night already. So instead of risking to wake Emhyr—or worse, finding him still awake—he went to bed, intending to try again the next night.

Only, when he arrived at Emhyr's door the next evening, the guards on duty informed him that while he was welcome to enter the Emperor's rooms whenever he wanted, Emhyr was at a dinner party. For a moment, Geralt considered waiting for Emhyr in his living room. But since Emhyr didn't usually go out he had no idea how long that'd be. Or in which mood Emhyr'd return.

When he tried again the evening after, Emhyr was throwing a dinner of his own. It was almost like Emhyr was intentionally keeping busy. He was still avoiding Geralt during the day, even though Geralt had stopped misbehaving on purpose.

Geralt spent most of the next morning and noon trying to get a hold of Emhyr to ask him if he’d like to spend the evening in his company. In hindsight, it was what Geralt should have done from the start. That led to an entirely new problem, however. In charge of Emhyr’s schedule was his chamberlain. And Mererid still hated Geralt, no matter what he did to win the man over. Which meant that he was sent to the wrong room on purpose, was told a false time so that Emhyr had already left when Geralt arrived, and generally was sent running around the palace looking like a fool.

Frustrated, Geralt gave up about an hour before dinner. But instead of going back to his rooms, he went to Emhyr’s, shrugged at the guards when they told him the Emperor wasn’t in and made himself comfortable on the expensive looking couch. After a while, a servant showed up, startled when she noticed Geralt and then quickly asked him if he’d like something to eat or drink. A short while later, she was setting up a side table with dinner, completed with a full bottle of wine. Geralt finished what she’d brought and another two courses. As Emhyr still hadn’t arrived after dinner, Geralt settled back into the couch with the remainder of his wine.

The sound of the door woke Geralt from his doze. Emhyr was leaning with his back against the door, eyes closed, pinching his nose. He looked incredibly tired. It was a private moment, one Geralt knew instantly that he shouldn’t have seen.

Emhyr twitched only the slightest bit when he noticed Geralt, pulling himself back together immediately. “Witcher,” he sighed. “What are you doing here?”

Geralt raised his cup as means of explanation. “Drinking wine.”

“Wonderful.” Emhyr sighed. He walked over to a cabinet. There was the soft tinkling of glass against glass. When Emhyr turned back to face Geralt, he was holding a tumbler and a bottle of something that smelled suspiciously like vodka. Emhyr downed the clear liquid in the tumbler in one gulp, before refilling it and putting the bottle away. He sat down in an armchair. “Can’t you drink wine in your own rooms? Why are you here?”

“Waited for you. You weren’t here the past two days when I came looking, so I figured if I can’t find you, I should probably just wait.”

Emhyr straightened in his seat. “I’m a busy man, witcher. Get to the point, and then leave. I’m in no mood to deal with… you, on top of everything else.”

That made Geralt listen up. Not the meaningful pause before the you, but the dismissive everything else that followed. "Wait, what's going on? I knew it wasn't like you to have dinner with nobles two evenings in a row. Is this about the poison? Is Ciri in danger? Can I help?"

Emhyr opened his mouth, likely to tell him off, then closed it again into a thin line. He was looking Geralt up and down. "Maybe," he finally allowed. "After all, you already made a fool of yourself and no doubt the entire court will know about this ambush by breakfast. If nothing else, it'll be amusing to watch nobles squirm when they have to be nice to you. We could use the rumors. How did we reconcile, I wonder?"

"You could just admit you like me." Geralt grinned. He couldn't help himself. For the first time since he had arrived at court there was a chance for him to make himself useful.

"No." Emhyr sipped at his vodka. "But for the plan to work you will have to sleep here. People will have to see you leave in the morning."

Geralt stretched. “Well, that solves how we reconciled. I plead my case, groveled some more and we had make-up sex.”

“No.” Emhyr didn’t even pause to think about it. “You swore to never cheat on me again. And then I let you stay, even though I’ve still not entirely forgiven you.”

“Not a chance!”

Emhyr sighed deeply. “So you insist on infidelity?”

Geralt blinked. Emhyr suddenly looked very serious. This was thin, thin ice, Geralt could tell. “...not what I said,” he murmured. 

“It is exactly what you said.” Emhyr put down his empty glass. It was a soft noise, but Geralt flinched all the same.

“I meant…” Geralt opened and closed his hands. He’d always been faithful as best as he could. All the times when he’d been accused of sleeping with anyone that asked, as Yen had put it, he’d been sure she’d broken up with him before. It had been a frequent topic of their fights. “I was never… I’m not sleeping around.”

“Really? I’ve heard differently.”

Geralt looked away. It was not what he’d signed up for when he’d come here. They weren’t even a couple yet. They weren’t close to that, actually. He could still walk away. Explain to Ciri he wasn’t up to it after all.

“Geralt.” To his surprise, Emhyr’s voice was gentle. “If I overstepped… or if I offended you…”

Geralt held up his hand to stop him. He couldn’t deal with an apology. “Would you want me to be faithful?”

Emhyr sat up just a little straighter, his eyes turning fully alert despite the alcohol he’d been drinking. “Suit yourself.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I can make use of either. Provided you’re willing to share the pillow talk after.”

Pity suddenly welled up in Geralt’s chest. He hadn’t meant to offer being a spy. That Emhyr’s mind jumped to that immediately made him just sad for the life Emhyr had been leading. Maybe he should just put everything plain and simple. “I’m not asking what your schemes need. I’m asking what you yourself want, Emhyr.”

For a second, Emhyr looked like a startled deer, before he pulled himself together again. He looked at the fire, appearing to be far away all of a sudden. “...you are aware,” he murmured. “That I never remarried. Despite everything, I never could bring myself to do it. Even though it would have made many matters much simpler.”

Geralt blinked. He didn’t have an answer for that. It made for hell of a reason to call the whole thing off, in his mind. Over twenty years alone was a fucking long time. Horrifyingly long, even. This was too much. No amount of curiosity could make that less scary.

“Geralt, are you alright?” Emhyr’s voice made it through Geralt’s stupor. “I merely thought it would be answer enough.”

“It is. It’s plenty. Enough to paint an elaborate picture, with tiny little details.”

“I propose a truce on the matter. You will never ask me about my feelings again, and I will never answer that question honestly again. Pavetta is not to be brought up by either of us.”

“Right, because you do not have any feelings.”

“Exactly.” The corner of Emhyr’s mouth twitched upwards. “I’m glad you have been informed of this fact.”

“Glad enough to not banish me to the couch?” It came out sounding much more hopeful than Geralt had anticipated. He could blame it on the unexpected smile, or the sudden display of humor from Emhyr. “I’m getting used to the soft beds in the palace.”

“You’re welcome to my bed, for the time being.” Emhyr pushed himself out of his chair. “However, do not expect anything beyond sleep. I had a busy day and we will both have a long day ahead.”

Emhyr had already turned his back so he couldn’t see Geralt’s face when he said, “Not even a good night kiss?”

Emhyr stopped dead. “Would you want one?” He sounded surprised, enough for Geralt to look less mischievous as he’d felt a moment ago by the time he’d turned around. Geralt hadn’t expected Emhyr to do anything but dismiss the idea as out of hand. It was like that first peck on the cheek all over again. Unexpected, fragile and thus, seemingly invaluable. Proof, almost proof, that Geralt had been correct. The question was merely whether they’d ever do anything about it. “Geralt.” Emhyr’s mouth was a line and one of his eyebrows was raised when Geralt looked up at being called. “If you’re just going to sit here like a fool, I am going to bed.” 

“It’s all a bit much.” Geralt gestured to encompass their whole situation and the changing relationship between them. “A bit too much, maybe.”

The corner of Emhyr’s mouth twitched in his almost, but not quite there yet, smile. “I am aware. Let me assure you, you’re not alone in that.”

“Great. So what now?”

For a second, Emhyr was hesitating. Slowly, he raised his hand to hold it out to Geralt. “Come to bed with me. We can only find a pace that suits us if we’re actually taking steps.”

Geralt stared at the outstretched hand for more than a couple of heartbeats. He felt like he was falling, fast, and there wasn’t even enough air to breathe around. He knew he had a problem. He’d always had this problem. Whenever somebody was willing to give him the time of day, to offer him company and more, he gave in without thinking. Not that he thought of himself as easy, but he was lonely and ready to do a lot to be less lonely, even temporarily.

But Emhyr… Emhyr was different. He knew what he would get himself into. What he’d already gotten himself into. But he also knew that Ciri had started to like her father, and that he himself was falling for this side Emhyr was showing of himself in private and he really would like to see him genuinely smile one of these days.

There was no book, no oil, no blade for this task ahead. All he could do was take the plunge. They were leaving each other a way out. This had never happened to Geralt. For that alone, he wanted to try.

He put the winecup down on the side table before he stood, taking Emhyr’s hand. It was warm. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, but the warmth felt good. This close, he could hear Emhyr’s heart racing in tandem with his. This close, when he took a deep breath through his nose, he could smell Emhyr’s own scent under the soap he used, under all the ink and parchment he always smelled of the most.

“I feel like a maiden on her wedding day,” Emhyr whispered, low enough to leave it up to Geralt to react or ignore.

“You said nothing more than sleep. I agreed,” Geralt whispered back. “But… I’d like… This is hard. I don’t want to kiss for the first time in front of an audience. It doesn’t have to be now. But I-”

A finger on his lips shut Geralt up. “I’d rather not wait ‘til morning,” Emhyr murmured. “If that would be agreeable.”

Geralt raised his hands to cup Emhyr’s face. Emhyr was wearing that startled deer expression again. Just when Geralt thought he’d decided to run after all, he closed his eyes and relaxed. His heart was still racing, Geralt could hear it, but he wasn’t about to pull away anymore. Feeling the panic rise inside him as well, Geralt leaned forward, closing the gap between their mouths.

Soft. Warm.

Their lips touched for only a heartbeat. Geralt wasn’t sure who pulled back first. He could still feel Emhyr’s lips on his, even as they had parted. He dropped his hands, feeling silly and embarrassed. His chest felt tight. He wanted to kiss Emhyr again and again and finally some more after that.

Taking a step back and a deep breath, Geralt closed his eyes. He needed to center himself again. He couldn’t fall for Emhyr, the most powerful man in the world, like this, just because Emhyr liked him. And because Ciri approved. At least he hoped she did. She hadn’t said so out loud but she had acted like she would. This was a bad bad mistake. He should have run while he still had a chance, he should…

“Geralt.” Emhyr had taken his hand again. “Come. Let’s go to bed.”

Geralt let himself be led into Emhyr’s bedroom. It looked almost cozy, if one ignored the huge canopy bed in the middle of it. There was a shelf full of well-used books, next to a comfortable looking armchair with a rug neatly folded over its back. It smelled faintly of Emhyr, too, making it the only room Geralt had ever been physically aware of it belonging to Emhyr. He seemed to own any room he was in, but this was different. It was his own space, the one he had made for himself. Yet another private part Emhyr had chosen to reveal to Geralt.

“One of my own nightgowns should fit you just fine. They’re wide enough for your shoulders, I suppose…” Emhyr had left Geralt standing by the door and was staring into a drawer of his dresser intently. “It’ll have to do for the night. We can still move some of your clothes should this all…” He trailed off, nightgown in hand and looked at Geralt. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Uh…” Geralt was aware he was staring like an idiot but he couldn’t help it. Hell, part of him was even excited that Emhyr was considering letting him move in. “I’ll take the nightgown, thank you,” was what he finally managed to get out. He didn’t move to take off Emhyr’s hands though. He didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid. Like kissing Emhyr again, or hugging him. 

Emhyr considered him and the nightgown before he threw it on the chair and took out another one. “I’ll be in the bath first.” He didn’t exactly flee the room, but Geralt was sure Emhyr was just as relieved as him to not be in the same room for a bit.

As soon as he was alone, Geralt pulled his hated doublet off. He wasn’t sure how long Emhyr would take, so he figured he’d better get changed quickly. The gown did fit, to Geralt’s surprise. He’d figured it would be too narrow at the shoulders or the arms, but the cut was loose enough for him to be comfortable. Sadly, it only smelled like fresh laundry with a hint of lavender, and not in the slightest of Emhyr himself. He looked around a little more when he was done changing, his clothes in a neat pile on the armchair. He’d have to ask Emhyr where he should put his clothes later. The room had a balcony on one side with large doors leading outside, a table and a single chair set out. Geralt could easily imagine Emhyr sitting there with a book in hand and a cup on the table, enjoying a rare moment of free time outside. They would have to add another chair if this all worked out. 

He was still staring at the balcony when Emhyr returned. His face was unreadable as he looked from Geralt to the balcony and back to the pile of clothes. “I’m glad the nightgown fits.”

“Uh… yeah. Me too.” Geralt tugged at the fabric nervously. “Wouldn’t have wanted to sleep naked.” He swallowed. “I mean… what should I do with my clothes?”

“It’s fine.” Emhyr waved his hand dismissively. “I didn’t think you’d be this neat.”

Geralt shot him a disbelieving look. Emhyr was walking over to one side of the bed so Geralt padded over to the other. “I grew up in a dorm with stern instructors. Then, I travelled for most of my life.”

Emhyr hummed to himself, nodding a little. “I see. Neat makes sense, if put like this. You have been raised into discipline and then the need to be ready to move on as quickly as possible made you keep the habit.” He folded back the covers so he could get into bed. “Where do you keep your dagger? Left boot?”

Geralt froze with the cover in hand. He stared at Emhyr with his mouth open.

Emhyr chucked. The sound of it drove the breath from Geralt’s lungs like a blow to his chest. He hadn’t even thought Emhyr capable of genuine mirth a couple of days ago. Now, the sound made Geralt want to treasure it. “Ciri showed me hers. I figured she learnt that from you. It is a little impractical at court, however, so we discussed it.” He sighed softly. “One of the first times she’d ever been lively at dinner with me.”

Geralt climbed into bed next to Emhyr. Although, considering the size, there was still plenty of space between them. He rolled onto his side to face Emhyr just to see him do the same.

“Should I be concerned that my daughter is so happy to discuss the merits of stabbing people?” Emhyr asked, but there were the slight upturns of the corners of his mouth again.

Geralt grinned back. “Not unless she starts demonstrating her theories on live subjects.”

“Very well. That, at least, has not happened yet.” Emhyr breathed a sigh of relief. It was a touch exaggerated, enough for Geralt to grin some more. “I’m more than glad she is capable of defending herself, and to defend herself well. I know I had less than little part in her growing up, but I cannot help being proud. Now, she’s learning so fast, I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day and she will have become used to court life so completely she forgets herself.”

“She’ll be good at being Empress.”

“Yes. Yes, she will. And I can only hope she will be as loved by everyone as she is by her family.” Emhyr paused. Suddenly, he turned over, his back to Geralt. “I’m sorry. You raised her well. That is what I meant to say.”

For a long moment, Geralt considered what to do. His instinct told him to reach out, to pull Emhyr against his chest and hold him tight. He’d understood what Emhyr had actually said. That he was worried about Ciri. Like a parent should be. That he wanted to protect her, too. She was his only family and important. Mind made up, Gerald shuffled closer, close enough to put his hand on Emhyr’s biceps.

“Have you told her you love her?” he whispered.

Emhyr shook his head. “The sentiment should be clear. However, I… I probably should, shouldn’t I?” To Geralt’s surprise, he relaxed into the embrace, even being so bold as to tug Geralt’s arm closer to his chest. “I am aware I am cold and distant. I cannot help it.”

“You’re plenty warm from my perspective,” Geralt murmured back. “Warm hands. Warm lips. There’s probably a warm core under all those scars, too.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” The tips of his fingers were tracing a scar on Geralt’s forearm. “Would it be agreeable for you to sleep like this?”

On impulse, Geralt squeezed Emhyr closer for a second. “Sure. Good night, Emhyr.”


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt woke early the next morning, Emhyr still asleep and warm in his arm. He could get used to waking like this, he thought, keeping his eyes closed and breathing in deeply. This felt incredibly calm, like he hadn’t felt in a long time. The bed was soft, he was warm and even happy. He could get used to this, exactly this, with little to no changes and be content. 

He could feel Emhyr wake after a while. But as Emhyr didn’t move or say anything, he didn’t either, intent to drag this moment out for as long as he could.

All of a sudden, Emhyr tensed.

“Emhyr, is everything alright?” Geralt murmured, hoping he sounded sleepy enough to have just woken up. 

Emhyr relaxed against him minutely. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I merely remembered I promised Cirilla we would have breakfast together.” He sighed. “I’m afraid her arrival is imminent considering I slept longer than usual.”

“You were calling her Ciri yesterday,” Geralt pointed out because it was unhelpful. He wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel about breakfast with Ciri. Nothing much had happened between them. However, there was a good chance that she’d be disappointed by the lack of development. Or worse, object to their plan of Geralt helping Emhyr in his scheme.

“Yesterday, I wasn’t aware that I might soon incur her wrath,” Emhyr mumbled. He’d turned his face so he could bury it in his cushion.

Geralt patted his shoulder carefully. “Yen taught her well, too.”

Emhyr merely groaned.

“Hey, are you panicking?” That question earned Geralt a very dirty look. “Alright alright alright. You’re not. Only people with feelings panic. You plan.”

“I will not lie to my daughter,” Emhyr huffed. “I promised her. Whatever she asks, I will answer honestly and without reservation.”

“So, what will you tell her when she asks about ...us? Er, me being here.” Curious as he was, Geralt had propped up his head on his hand so he could look at Emhyr’s face. 

“The truth,” Emhyr replied flatly. 

“Which is...?”

Emhyr shifted onto his back so he could look at Geralt. His expression told him bluntly that Emhyr could see what Geralt was doing and had no intention of letting him get away with it. “That I trust you with her life and have therefore agreed to help you alleviate the political pressure you’re feeling because you acted like an idiot.”

“Or you could say you like me and trust me with your life.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Emhyr paused for a moment. Geralt was almost convinced he might get kissed, until Emhyr did the approximate opposite and got out of bed. “I trust plenty of people with my life. I trust them to end it quickly if they get the chance and cause,” he told the window.

“Emhyr…”

Just like that, the walls around Emhyr were back up. And Geralt was left feeling helpless. He’d just gotten a glimpse of what Emhyr was really like, and started to like him. Worst of all, he understood why Emhyr was the way he was. It wasn’t just the loneliness. It was a matter and a means of self-preservation Geralt himself knew all too well. If you’d lost so many, risking to let anyone be close to you again seemed less and less as if it was worth it. Losing your entire family  **twice** … The idea alone was almost too much to bear.

“I don’t want your pity, witcher.” Emhyr’s jaw was set as he spoke, his brows drawn. “I know who and what I am well enough. And I know you, too.” He was shaking, Geralt noticed in his helpless panic. “I know your Path and your morals and ideals. So yes, in a way, I trust you with my life, enough to let you be close. Because if you decide to kill me, you will. And I will have done something to deserve it.”

Geralt stared at him, slack jawed. How had he missed this? Had he gone so blind in his excitement that somebody liked him to miss… well, all the other feelings Emhyr had? Of course Emhyr couldn’t like him. He was afraid to, because of what it could mean, and Geralt kept pushing him like a fool. Even if Emhyr would ever decide to love again, it couldn’t be him. Loving someone who could die any day, who was in constant danger by his own design, was a gamble with immeasurable stakes. “Fuck,” Geralt concluded his trail of thought. In Emhyr’s place, he wouldn’t consider himself worth the risk either. 

They didn’t talk much after that. Emhyr called on a servant to bringt Geralt a fresh change of clothes before Geralt had even made it out of bed and then disappeared into the bathroom. When the servant returned a couple of minutes later, Geralt asked him for some water and a shaving kit so he could wash his face and get rid of the stubble. He suddenly wanted to be gone before he had to face Emhyr again. He shaved and washed quickly, drying off with a much too soft towel, doing his best not to look around and notice things about the room. Like the lack of flowers, pictures or even a mirror. He dressed, doing his best to put it out of his mind that the fine clothes he was wearing were effectively a gift from Emhyr to make his life easier. 

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Ciri was already sitting in the living room reading a book until she’d already seen him. Her eyes lit up for a second. He could tell the exact moment she’d parsed his expression by the purse of her lips and the dark glare she shot the door behind Geralt. “What did he do?” 

Geralt shrugged. It wasn’t so much what Emhyr had or hadn’t done. “Nutthin’.”

“Geralt.” The glare was now turned unto him. “Then what’s with the face?”

He walked over to her before he said, “Emhyr just told me he’ll never let himself love me.” As anticipated, Ciri tried to get up in a temper. He pushed her gently back down by her shoulders. “It’s alright. He didn’t say it exactly like that and I get it. I really do. It’s fine.”

“You don’t look like it’s fine.” She didn’t try to get up again but she offered him a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt forced himself to smile. “Because you started it?” He settled down next to her and let her hug him. “It’s fine. You meant good. It might even be a good thing, eventually.”

“And you both went with it too,” Ciri reminded him. “I didn’t force you to do anything. Neither of you. But I still think he could have said something before…”

“Before what?”

“Well, you know… I know you know… I mean…” Ciri shifted a little. “You obviously slept here.”

Geralt shot her a flat look. “We did not.”

“Ok, then what are you still doing here?”

“Well, we talked a bit last night. And it was convenient. Emhyr thinks I can help find the people behind the poison.”

Ciri rolled her eyes at his excited grin. “You could just have slept on the couch.”

“What if anyone saw?” Geralt gasped theatrically. “Besides, I’m not saying no to a soft bed. And it’s so big we didn’t have to touch.”

She still looked dubious, but accepted the explanation for the moment. “So, what’s the plan with the conspiracy? How’re you gonna help?”

“Uh…” Geralt shifted uncomfortably. “Well, from what I remember, I’ll come along to events, listen to and glare at people.”

“So, you haven’t made any plants, at all. What did you talk about so long, then?”

Geralt shrugged. He wasn’t about to lie to Ciri either, but some things were too personal to tell, even to her. Thankfully, he could hear Emhyr in the bedroom, so he pretended to turn his full attention to the door. He was laying it on thick enough for Ciri to mutter “Geralt, I think you got it bad.”

Geralt was glad that Emhyr opened the door moments later. Not just because of the reprieve it brought him, either, judging by the way his heart lurched. Emhyr noticed them both staring and raised an eyebrow. “I assume you have already been talking about… Geralt and I.”

“Yeah, for example that there is no Geralt and you.” Ciri narrowed her eyes at her father. 

Geralt flinched. That wasn’t exactly it.

“Indeed,” Emhyr sighed. “But I trust you will keep that detail from the rest of court for the time being. It will enable us both to keep Geralt close at hand at any time, without raising substantial questions. It’ll also allow me to bring him to private dinners or parties outside the palace he wouldn’t be invited to.”

“You can’t just-! Geralt, you can’t just let him-!”

“It’s fine, really.” Geralt patted his daughter’s hand reassuringly. “I agreed. It’s the smart thing to do.”

“If it’ll help, you may yell at me later,” Emhyr offered. “After breakfast.”

Emhyr summoned a servant to order for breakfast to be set up in the suite’s dining room. Ciri was glaring daggers at him the entire time, no matter how Geralt tried to cool her temper. He should have known from past experiences that sometimes it was a lot easier to wait for the storm to blow over with her.

“Why do you even think I want to yell at you?” Ciri asked when they’d all settled down around the cozy little table. The dining room was obviously meant only for the closest family, with space for six people at best. Between the three of them there was plenty of room left empty still. 

“Because your mother would have, and rather at length and in increasing volume. You’re very much like her at times.”

The response left Ciri speechless for a moment.

“That was meant as a compliment, of course,” Emhyr went on. “It is surely not a bad thing to have confidence in your own opinions.”

Ciri still struggled for words. Finally, she burst out: “That’s the first time you talked about my mother!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it any sooner.” Emhyr put down his cutlery. “It still pains me that she… that I… we lost her. That she couldn’t see the woman you’ve grown into with her own eyes. I have been thinking about her often lately. I’d like to think she would have loved you now just as much as she loved you when you were born.”

Ciri’s eyes flickered over to Geralt. She was chewing on her lower lip when she looked down at her plate, clearly far away in thoughts. “I think I see now,” she said “I’m sorry, father. I didn’t know.”

“But you should.” Emhyr pressed his lips into a line. “As I should tell you about her. It’s my mistake that you know so little about her." He wasn’t able to look at Ciri either. “Maybe… you could come by some evenings to talk… If you’d like.”

Ciri blinked in incomprehension. She turned to Geralt for a second, before looking back at her father. “I… I think I’d like that?” Still incomprehensive, she leaned back over to Geralt. “What did you do to him?”

“Axii,” Geralt deadpanned, tracing the sign in the air above the table. Undirected as it was, it immediately flickered out of existence.

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t,” Geralt confirmed. “Wouldn’t work anyway.”

“Why not?” Emhyr looked almost a little relieved at the offered change of topic. “And what is this Axii meant to do? I assume it’s some kind of witcher magic?”

“It’s a sign,” Ciri replied before Geralt could. “A witcher sign. It’s a bit like magic, but not like mine. It comes with the mutations. Like the eyes. And Axii’s… promise me you won’t be mad.” At Emhyr’s vocal assent, Ciri went on, “It lets you influence the mind of people.” 

“Or animals, or monsters,” Geralt interjected. “Only the weak willed, though, which is why I really don’t think I could have any effect on you.”

Emhyr considered the information. “I want you to try it nonetheless.”

“Huh, alright.” Geralt shrugged. He cast the sign on Emhyr, instructing: “Kiss me.”

“Irritating,” Emhyr concluded after a moment’s pause. He was frowning at Geralt. “And I had thought you more creative than asking for something you could have without relying on magic.”

Geralt looked at Emhyr a little dazed. He hadn’t expected that kisses in front of Ciri were on the table. Ciri didn’t seem to have expected it either. Under the table, she kicked him in the ankle. It was likely meant to stop him, but it only made Geralt realize he should answer. “I guess if you don’t mind…?” He even leaned forward toward Emhyr.

The kiss felt every bit as good as the one the night before had. Despite Ciri’s gasps. Geralt felt immensely pleased with himself as he settled back into his chair. Emhyr, for the most part, very much looked like nothing at all had happened.

“Geralt!” Ciri hissed when she finally managed to remember how words worked. Geralt could tell the kiss had shocked her, and she’d needed a moment to process whether she wanted to be scandalized or angry or simply yell at either or both of them for being stupid. “What the hell! You just told me…! Are you stu- Wait, maybe Yennefer was right. You are a masochist.” The last two sentences came out as a low hiss, but in these close quarters, it was unlikely Emhyr didn’t hear it too.

Geralt held up his hands in an effort to shield himself from her anger. “Well, Ciri, you see…” He was scrambling for something to say. He understood what she meant. But it had been too tempting not to kiss Emhyr at that moment. And it was fine, he kept telling himself. Fine with him, fine with Emhyr. But apparently not fine with Ciri. Desperately, he looked over to Emhyr for help.

Emhyr sighed. “Cirilla. We are both adults and we both know what we are doing,” he said, fixing her with his eyes. She stubbornly glared back, but to Emhyr’s credit he didn’t even flinch. “I know you don’t want to see this yet. But we are on the same page about what this between us is. You kept telling me to communicate. We did. And now we agreed that as long as it’s a mutual understanding between us, I will indulge him as much as he’ll indulge me. If he wants to be kissed by me, that is well within our agreement.”

“Uh… huh.” Ciri looked doubtful. “And who’ll you have him kill for that? I mean, if I actually… no wait, I do actually believe you that you see all of this in transactional terms, so… it’s really like you. You know? I thought you had changed! Or that you were at least trying. But this… this is so like you. I don’t even wanna hear about it anymore. If you, intentionally or not, hurt Geralt, I swear…!”

“Ciri, please.” She’d leapt to her feet, forcing Geralt to stand as well to put a hand on her shoulder in an effort to calm her down. “I’m more than capable of protecting myself all on my own.”

“Out of curiosity, Geralt, what did you tell Ciri earlier?” It was clear that Emhyr was trying his best to appear unfazed by Ciri’s accusation but there were a number of tiny hints, like the tension in his jaw or the increased blinking, that suggested her words had hit a mark.

Geralt swallowed. It was one thing to conclude this in front of Ciri. It was another matter entirely to tell Emhyr to his face. “I… might have… don’t take this the wrong way, please… I concluded that you… well… There’s no chance, as things are now, that you will love me.” He closed his eyes, unwilling to see Emhyr’s reaction. He couldn’t close his ears, though, couldn’t help hear the sharp exhale of breath.

It took a long moment for Emhyr to respond. “I see.” His voice was unwavering and cold. “A fair assessment. Considering what I told you earlier, I have to assume it was not taken in malice.”

Geralt shook his head. “Not at all. I’m not Pavetta, I’m horribly apolitical, and I’m at a constant risk of dying. Not somebody anyone like you should love.”

“Being Pavetta might raise the bar a bit too high.” To Geralt’s relief, Emhyr was moving the corners of his mouth in what qualified as a smile by comparison.

“You two,” Ciri concluded after a moment, “Are being weird.” The exchange seemed to have mollified her nonetheless. She sighed. “Do what you have to, I guess. I still think you’re both being fucking stupid about this … thing. And my point about grave harm if you hurt Geralt stands, father.”

“Duly noted, Cirilla.” Emhyr paused for a moment. “Would making him dress nicely to accompany me to lunch qualify as harm?”

Ciri laughed. “If anything, that’s saving Geralt from himself.” She stepped around the table when Emhyr got up. “Can I hug you?” she asked sheepishly.

To her surprise—and obviously his own, too—he wrapped his arms around her and held her. It took a moment for her to overcome the shock and return the hug. Geralt could see her hands clenching as she leaned her head on her father’s shoulder. Emhyr said something to her, too low for Geralt to hear, which made her look up at him and swallow. She was looking slightly dazed when they let go of each other.

“Would you mediate between Geralt and the tailor on my behalf? I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it myself. There is still work to be done this morning,” Emhyr said. He looked like he’d actually have preferred doing that to whatever important work was calling to him.

“I’ll make sure nobody gets stabbed this time,” Ciri grinned. “Have fun with the paperwork, father.”

It wasn’t too far to Geralt’s guest suite. Emhyr had given him one close to the rooms of the Imperial family, ostensibly because it was as close as he could be to Ciri. Now, Geralt suspected it was also because it meant he was close, in general, and thus Emhyr had somebody he trusted at hand if needed. And, it went to show that Emhyr regarded him as some kind of family for everyone in the palace to see. 

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t very far. Geralt and Ciri still passed some people. Their looks turned speculative when they saw Geralt and lingered on him far longer than comfortable. There were hushed conversations already. Geralt was almost relieved when they’d reached the sanctum of his private drawing room. All he’d have to face there was the stabby tailor.

Ciri almost doubled over laughing when she saw his face. “Yes, the whole palace will know where you spent the night within the hour if they don’t already,” she wheezed once she’d calmed down a little. “I hope you’re prepared, because from now on, the efforts of those who want to influence you will intensify. It's one thing that you might have sway over me, but it’s entirely different to have the Emperor’s ear.”

“I hope they know Emhyr will hear about every last one of their attempts,” Geralt grumbled. It was weak as threats went, but it was the best he had.

“I’m sure they’re banking on it. Which is why you should tell me…” She tapped her lips with her index finger. “Are you going for serious political player or… handsome diversion?”

Geralt thought about it for a moment. “I think the handsome diversion would be better,” he concluded. 

“Uh-hu.” Ciri was grinning at him. “Sure.”

“Look,” Geralt grumbled. He’d have liked it if Ciri would take this whole situation at least a little seriously. He was going to be eaten alive by the nobility at court without help. “It's just that,” he tried to explain. “If people don't take me seriously they might talk more. And the more they talk the more likely it is that I’ll learn something about the poison and the conspiracy. The sooner we get to the root of the matter, the better.”

Ciri considered that for a moment. “True…” she murmured thoughtfully. 

“And I want to find the conspirators before they try again on you,” Geralt added.

“Or on father.”

“He can take care of himself.” Geralt shrugged. Emhyr wouldn’t let just any poisoner do him in, not like that. Geralt trusted him that much. “But yeah. Him too.”

Ciri tilted her head. “I really can't decide if you care about him, or not, Geralt. That isn’t like you. Normally, you make it pretty clear what you think of people.”

“He… he isn’t exactly people, is he?” It was a bad explanation and one Ciri clearly wasn’t buying. He pushed on. “He’s survived until now without me. I'm not his protector. I'm yours. I gotta remember that. He doesn’t want me to, either. And if I don’t act like… well, a love sick idiot for once, maybe that’s progress.” He wasn’t entirely convinced of that. But he’d been yelled at about that kind of behavior a lot by Yen, and he didn’t need a repeat.

After a long pause, Ciri put a hand on his shoulder. She looked heartbreakingly sympathetic. “But you’d still be sad if he died?” she asked.

Geralt wanted to shrug, but then nodded instead. “After last night? Yeah. He... I like him, the person he's in private.” He was gesturing, unable to encompass it all with words. When he noticed what he was doing, he dropped his hands. “It's stupid, I know.”

Gently, Ciri steered him over to the nearest couch and sat down with him. “What is it about him, exactly?” she asked in a soft voice. Geralt wondered briefly when his little girl had grown up this much. “I mean... I can't really see it. If he weren't my father and... trying with me... he's just…” Her voice trailed off.

“Strange and cold and distant? Yeah.” There was no denying it, even if he had tried to the night before. “But there's a whole other side to him, too. He loves you, for instance. I wouldn't have believed it either, but he really does.”

“I…” Ciri stared off into the distance for a moment. Eventually, she shook her head. “Yeah... I mean, he said so, after breakfast today. And that he's proud of me... that was, well, strange of him. Did you set him up to it?”

“I nudged, a little,” Geralt admitted. He hadn’t thought Emhyr would actually do it at that moment, but he was glad to be wrong. “But it was mostly him, promise. The way he talks about you, it’s pretty clear that you’re the center of his entire personal universe.”

“So you two do have more in common than you thought.” She was obviously trying to lighten the mood again. It helped. For a moment, they both grinned at each other in silent understanding, until the knock of the tailor interrupted them.

Ciri took over the talking. She clearly had an idea in mind and seeing as Geralt didn’t have much of an opinion on courtly fashion, aside from the fact that it was all too tight and constricting, he didn’t mind. All he had to do was strip down to his underwear, because the tailor insisted, get measured, this time without fighting it even though it took forever, and finally stand still while the tailor held up fabrics to him so Ciri could pick what she liked. Geralt wasn’t entirely sure what the differences were. It all looked black to him.

When they were finally finished, it was so late Geralt wondered how the tailor would even produce anything for him to wear. Ciri assured him that about two hours were plenty for the Imperial tailor, but Geralt remained doubtful. He didn’t argue, though. Instead, he promised her to wear the new clothes as instructed, clean up the stubble he’d missed in his hurry to escape Emhyr’s bedroom and to behave at lunch. She left satisfied with his sincerity and in a good mood.

Once alone, Geralt settled into an armchair with a book in an attempt to read while he waited for the new clothes. Oddly enough, there had been a steady supply of books simply appearing on an end table ever since he’d arrived. He’d liked almost all of them, too. Even the historic or more political books had been written well enough not to be dry. Ciri had denied having anything to do with it when he’d asked. That only left Emhyr. But wondering if he should bring the books up with Emhyr only led to him looking at pages without reading a single word.


	4. Chapter 4

A servant arrived with the new set of clothes shortly before noon. He looked curiously at Geralt, instead of the unusual slightly afraid look most people shot him in the palace before. While the servant spread out the clothes and asked if Geralt needed any help, Geralt tried to make some small talk. He didn’t learn what about him made the servant curious, but he did learn that the new outfit was not exactly, strictly speaking, new. Rather, it had been intended for somebody else and then reworked to fit Geralt’s measurements. It’d been the only way to make him a complete outfit on such short notice. But, Emhyr had ordered it, so it had to be done.

That, at least, explained some of the fascination the servant had with Geralt. He was suddenly  _ important  _ now _.  _ Important enough to have the Emperor personally order clothes done for him. Head spinning, Geralt declined the offer to let himself be dressed by the servant.

He’d only managed to get into the pants when he was interrupted again by a knock. He didn’t even have time to respond before the door was pushed open and Emhyr strode in, luckily without the usual guard around him. Geralt fought the impulse to cover himself or be embarrassed. Instead, he slowly spun around. “I didn’t know your tailor made clothes that actually fit,” he grinned. “It doesn’t even pinch.”

Emhyr was outright staring at him.

“If the doublet fits as well as the pants, I might even stop complaining,” Geralt went on. “Or should I leave it off?”

He strode over to Emhyr when he was still not getting any answer. He could hear Emhyr’s heart beat a little faster than usual, noticed the widened pupils. It was enough for Geralt to lean in close to whisper into Emhyr’s ear, “We could still skip lunch.”

That finally broke Emhyr’s stupor. He still didn’t say anything when he reached out to touch Geralt’s bare chest. It took Geralt a long moment to realize Emhyr was tracing scars. The grin fell off his face in understanding. He’d misread Emhyr completely. His physical reaction wasn’t interest. It was fear.

“Those are a lot of scars,” Emhyr eventually said. “More that I had been aware of. A normal man should rightly have died from quite a few of the wounds that caused them.”

“Well, I didn’t. I’m still here.” Geralt covered Emhyr’s hand with his. “I’m a lot harder to kill than a normal human.”

Emhyr fixed him with a frown. “I liked it better when you pretended you were considerably less intelligent than you actually are.” There was, however, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“You did find me a lot less interesting that way, though,” Geralt reminded him. “And I’ve decided that I like your interest. A lot. And I’ll keep telling you until you... “ He thought about how to best phrase it to not call Emhyr a coward to his face. That still seemed ill-advised. “Until you believe me.”

Emhyr sighed. “Just get dressed.”

“Are we late already?” Geralt asked as he wandered over to first pull on his shirt and then the doublet over it. He was starting to see why people usually let tailors measure in peace. This new doublet fit just as well as the pants. He even had a full range of motion with his arms, which was an entirely new feature in court clothing for him.

“The Emperor is never late,” Emhyr informed him. He’d stopped frowning. “That said, I do not like turning up after every other guest has left already.”

“That would defeat the purpose of having to deal with people, yes.” Geralt nodded. He was ready to bet a hefty sum and his favorite Gwent deck on Emhyr’s preference for a quiet meal alone over even a small gathering. “Second hand gossip is much less valuable than hearing it straight from the source.”   
“It’s important in a different way, but the core of your point is somewhat correct.”

“Anything I should know ahead of time?”

Emhyr shook his head. “I’ll tell you in the carriage. For now, just stay close and don’t complain about the guard that’s coming with us.”

“But you don’t need it with me around,” Geralt whined. He smirked. “Well, I know they’re for show. And to allow me to look less intimidating. After all, if I were all that the stories made witchers out to be, why would you need a guard?”

“I trust you are armed nonetheless?”

At Geralt’s nod, Emhyr opened the door. As expected, his personal guard was waiting outside for him. Geralt followed Emhyr down and into a courtyard where the carriage was already waiting. They got in alone, even though it was big enough for ten people, by Geralt’s estimate. He’d seen a lot of coaches filled to the roof with travelers, but he felt like he could never get used to how nobles and the powerful were also always rich in space, in addition to monetary wealth. He settled next to Emhyr anyway. If anyone peeked inside, he wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea.

To his surprise, Emhyr took his hand.

“I’d like if you stayed close,” he said slowly once the carriage was in motion. “However, it might be more fruitful if you didn’t. There will no doubt be a number of people who want a word with you in private. Please do not make up any lies about our relationship, if you can avoid it.”

Geralt nodded. “So I’ll stick to the basics, we met decades ago in Cintra, lost track of each other, Ciri brought us back together.”

“Yes, that about covers it. Feel free to exaggerate her support in any way you like. It’ll endear her to those that already like her and provides those that don’t like me very much with a convenient explanation for my sudden involvement with anybody.”

“Anyone I should be watching out for?”

Emhyr shook his head. “It’s a small group of people invited to this luncheon, all of whom I consider allies to varying degrees. It’s the ideal event to bring you as my paramour. Those in attendance will hopefully understand this as proof that they’re closer to me than they actually are.” Emhyr suddenly set his jaw. “If… there is the possibility that someone might say something untoward to you, because of us. You will tell me about it.”

Geralt took a moment to digest Emhyr’s words. “You… you’re worried somebody might be jealous?”

“Yes.”

“Of me?”

“Yes, Geralt.”

“Who?”

“I am not entirely certain. If you don’t mind, I’d like to try proving my suspicion. Some display of affection would therefore be appreciated.”

“Like this?” Geralt leaned into Emhyr’s personal space. He cupped his cheek, eyes meeting Emhyr’s to make sure he was welcome. They kissed, briefly.

“Yes. We’re almost there.” Emhyr didn’t push Geralt away, however. Instead, he slung an arm around Geralt’s shoulder to pull him in for another kiss. “It might be good if people saw us kiss when they open the doors,” he murmured between kisses.

In hindsight, Geralt should probably have protested the idea. He’d not taken into account how fast a learner Emhyr was. The first open mouthed kisses were clumsy, sure, but by the time the carriage stopped Geralt was left breathless.

He staggered out of the carriage slightly dazed. Emhyr somehow managed to appear entirely unaffected and smug at the same time.

They were led inside by a wooden faced servant. Geralt could already hear distant conversation. Emhyr was still holding onto his hand, forcing Geralt effectively to walk by his side against every instinct. The pomp of the city still didn’t sit right with him. It was worse inside the manors of the nobility. This one in particular seemed even more grandiose than the palace itself. At least the corridor was, compared to the parts of the palace Geralt frequented. There was always a chance that the public parts were much richer in decoration.

The moment they stepped through a door into the dinning room, Geralt was swept up in endless rounds of introduction. He’d barely had the time to memorize one name and greet the person, before Emhyr steered him on with a hand on the small of his back to introduce him to the next noble. 

Eventually, when he had been introduced to every single noble present in person, he was allowed to take his seat next to Emhyr. None of the other guests, nor the hostess, had given Geralt less than a neutral greeting. Most had seemed curious or even delighted. That could have been a show for Emhyr, sure, but some had it down so well it had felt genuine to Geralt.

During the meal, Emhyr kept a hand on Geralt’s thigh the entire time. Every so often, he would lean into Geralt’s space, too, to point out a dish he felt like Geralt should try. All of the recommendations were interesting, with all but one to Geralt’s taste. The one that wasn’t surprised Geralt enough for him to turn to Emhyr with an expression of betrayal. It got a half smile in return and Emhyr’s hand squeezed Geralt’s thigh, both signals that Emhyr had recommended something Geralt wouldn’t like on purpose.

The conversation was pleasant, albeit a bit bland. Everyone seemed to avoid politics, in favor of talk about the latest novel they’d read, or a play they’d seen, or a performance that had impressed them. Emhyr was mostly listening, and so was Geralt, considering he hadn’t left the palace much since he’d arrived and had only been reading the books he was convinced Emhyr had sent to his rooms. Toward the end of the meal, the tide of the conversation turned to fashion, a topic Geralt knew even less about.

After the luncheon, the party moved to a nearby salon. People quickly formed smaller groups there. Before Geralt had fully realized what was happening, some nobles had started to cluster around Emhyr. He was on the outside of the group already, when somebody touched his arm.

“Sir Geralt?” A man who Geralt thought was called Lord var Doirn said. “If you wouldn’t mind, come sit with us.”

Geralt resisted the urge to turn to Emhyr. This was fine. Likely, it was even part of the plan, whatever its details were. Resigned, he nodded and allowed Lord var Doirn to lead him to the far side of the room. The group they joined were all a fair bit younger than Emhyr and the people surrounding him, probably about halfway between him and Ciri. Lord var Doirn reintroduced everyone. Once he was done, a hush fell over the group. 

Only belatedly, Geralt realized that he was the center of attention. “Uh… what? Did I say something off?”

“Ah, no. Forgive us, we’re all just a little curious…” Apparently, Lord var Doirn was the elected speaker of the group. “That is to say, about you, Sir Geralt. We’ve all heard the rumors, of course, but…”

It clicked for Geralt. “You want to know which of them are true. Since the core of the rumors is. Because Emhyr brought me along.”

There were some quickly hushed gasps at the mention of Emhyr’s name.

“I-is it true you met as young men?” a younger woman asked before she could be shushed by her friends.

Geralt shrugged. “More or less, I guess? He was, at least. I’m not exactly aging like a human myself.”

“And you raised the Crown Princess for him, yes? To keep her safe.” There was a shine in the eyes of the inquirer. “He married somebody else and still you stayed true to him like that, out of love.”

Geralt opened his mouth and quickly shut it again. It was a wonderful story, put like that. And it wasn’t wrong entirely. He had raised Ciri out of love, only it had been out of love for  _ her  _ and  _ despite  _ Emhyr. The group didn’t need to know those details, though. “That sums it up, yeah. I raised Ciri as my own.”

“So, is it also true that you rescued her from a great evil?” There was a small debate on what kind of evil and what the Wild Hunt was before everyone settled down enough for Geralt to answer. 

“I helped,” he said. “She did most of the rescuing herself.”

Some of the ladies cooed at that, with the general sentiment that he was far too modest.

“And now that she’s here where she belongs, you can finally stay at your beloved’s side, after all those years. It’s so romantic. All those circumstances that kept you apart and still your love endured.”

Geralt fought the sudden feeling of panic inside himself back down. He’d been keenly aware of the general shape of the rumors, but to hear the embellished story in full was a bit much. It sounded a lot like the ballads Dandelion would make up when he’d try to impress noble women. 

He finally settled for, “I’m just glad I can be with my family.” Unsurprisingly, this was cause for yet more cooing. 

“And you never held it against him that he chose someone else, someplace above you?” Lord var Doirn was watching Geralt intently. He couldn’t decide whether this was a test or an attempt to find a weakness in their story. “Lesser men would surely have moved on after one, let alone both. Especially, since His Imperial Highness never mentioned you, as a friend or otherwise. Forgive me my suspicion.”

Geralt had raised an eyebrow while Lord var Doirn had been talking until he stopped. It was a trick he’d picked up from Emhyr. Usually, people not sure of themselves would eventually shut up. “I lived my entire life in the North.” Not a lie. “And being with another man like that isn’t even tolerated there.” Which was the truth, not that Geralt would have cared much. “If people had known I was even just a friend to Emhyr, I could’ve just as well demanded any of the Northern Kings lock me up for the rest of my life. The Temerian dungeons are not pleasant. The Redanian ones are even worse. It was safer for us both to act like nothing had ever happened.”

Lord var Doirn narrowed his eyes. He didn’t believe a single word out of Geralt’s mouth. But before he could continue his line of questioning, the conversation yet again shifted course away from Geralt and towards a more general discussion of the newly acquired territories in the North. Geralt agreed where he felt it appropriate, because yes, forced peace between humans and non-humans was good in his book, and kept his mouth shut where it wasn’t, like what he knew about Emhyr’s methods to win the war. Eventually, he was cajoled into telling a story from his travels to an increasingly captivated audience.

When he ended the story, after a number of tangents sparked by questions from his audience, he was immediately asked to tell another one. However, just at the same moment, Lord var Doirn put a hand on Geralt’s forearm. He’d glanced in Emhyr’s direction before he’d done it, too. That didn’t bode well.

“I’m sure a Master Witcher like Sir Geralt has many exciting  _ stories _ to tell,” he said, pronouncing stories like he meant  _ yarn _ . “But I’m afraid I must speak with Sir Geralt in private for a moment, if he’d be so amendable.”

Geralt shot a panicked look over his shoulder, searching for Emhyr. It was just his usual luck that Emhyr had his back turned to him at that moment. That left him with only the choice to turn back and bear whatever Lord var Doirn wanted to discuss. Maybe he’d be able to learn something. Or at least add Lord var Doirn to the list of suspects for good.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged. Despite the vocal disappointments from some of the group, he followed Lord var Doirn into the hall. Just before they left the room, he caught Emhyr’s eye for a moment. That meant if he got murdered in a closet, Emhyr now would immediately know who to hang.

To Geralt’s relief, Lord var Doirn chose the closest empty room for their talk. Geralt still opted to stand near the door, ready to draw the knife from his left boot at a moment’s notice. When Lord var Doirn didn’t immediately start, Geralt relaxed a little. Enough to cross his arms in front of his chest and scowl at the man.

“I’m sure you have noticed I do not like you very much,” Lord var Doirn eventually said.

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched. No shit. He motioned for Lord var Doirn to continue.

“All I wanted to say…” Lord var Doirn scowled. “If you’re here to… for…” He looked uncomfortable. “I know His Imperial Majesty can defend himself. Defend himself well. But…”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. This was going in an entirely unforseen direction.

“If you’re here for personal gain, let me be perfectly frank: there will be no place far enough in this world for you to hide.” He focused a firey glare on Geralt. “His Imperial Majesty might act like he forgives you, but be sure I will not. Nor will Lad—”

A single rap on the door interrupted him. Upon prompting, a servant stuck his head into the room. “Sir Geralt? His Imperial Majesty requests you to accompany him back to the palace.”

Geralt shot Lord var Doirn what he hoped qualified as an apologetic look. “Tell Emhyr I’ll be there in a moment.”

The servant swallowed, but nodded, before he closed the door again.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Not that Geralt felt the least bit sorry to stop the awkward shovel talk short. “I heard ya, though. No hurting Emhyr’s feelings. Even though he doesn’t have any.” He smiled at the private joke and then some more at Lord var Doirn’s puzzled face. “I… ah… should probably not keep him waiting. You know how he can get.”

“Certainly.” Lord var Doirn inclined his head. “Just know that there are many factions at court that begrudge you your newfound place. And not all of them are the Emperor’s enemies. Some do have his best interests in mind. Both in his political and his private life.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Sure. And that best interest cannot be a simple Northerner. A mutant. None of your own. Better he’d settle down in his old age with a nice Nilfgaardian lady, right? Because that’s evidently what he wants.” Unconsciously, he’d started growling. “He’s only had what? Twenty years? To marry or even have a proper relationship with one of those.” He shot the Lord a final glare before he turned and stomped out of the room.

He almost ran into Emhyr waiting outside the salon. “Aren’t you in a mood all of a sudden,” Emhyr murmured as he steered Geralt down the hall. “Did you hear any news?”

“No,” Geralt muttered back. He felt like a petulant child. “Ciri already told me that neither knight nor witcher is good enough for an emperor.”

“Ah.” Emhyr stopped, coaxing Geralt to look at him. He pointedly ignored the servant waiting to lead them to their carriage. “We shall discuss this notion later, in private,” he promised. Then, to Geralt’s surprise, he pressed a brief kiss to Geralt’s lips. “Rest assured that while it had been brought to my attention as well,” he said once he pulled away, loud enough for the servant to overhear without straining his ears too much. “That I do not care about our difference in status. Commoner or noble, witcher or human, Northern barbarian or citizen of Nilfgaard proper, no matter what others might see you as, I shall always only see you.”

Geralt barely managed to hold himself together until they were safely in the carriage. The clatter of hooves on cobbles drowned out most of his laughter as he doubled over in his seat. His chest and sides hurt by the time he’d calmed down again, with tears still in the corners of his eyes. “Fucking hell, Emhyr,” he pressed out, breathless and not at all angry anymore. “Did you steal those lines from a play?”

“They were rather good, weren’t they?” Emhyr looked all too smug about the whole thing. “I probably stole them, but I can’t remember where from. Sudden poetic inspiration, you might call it. I hope the entire party hears about it verbatim, it was one of my better improvised speeches.” He reached out to pull Geralt over to him. “Has your mood improved?”

Geralt sighed, allowing himself to lean against Emhyr. It felt good to be close to somebody whose company he enjoyed. He hadn’t been made to laugh like that in ages. “Immensely.”

“Will you tell me what Lord var Doirn has said to get you this riled up?” Absentmindedly, Emhyr started to pet Geralt’s head. “It cannot be simply about the difference in status.”

“He said  _ people _ thought I wasn’t good enough for you, personally. Of fucking course, people at court would say that, but…” Geralt shrugged. “He packaged it as concern of a friend for your emotional wellbeing. I’m used to it, really, it’s only…” He trailed off, not sure how to end the sentence. He hadn’t been angry just because he was accused of using Emhyr for power or money or whatever. For all he cared, the entire court could think whatever they wanted about him. Well, at least the entire court minus Ciri. What bugged him was the fake concern for Emhyr. Nobody seemed to have cared about his misery. Only now, they suddenly acted like they cared. 

Emhyr’s hand stopped in Geralt’s hair. When the petting didn’t resume on its own, Geralt moved his head against the hand. As that failed as well, he resorted to making a needy little noise in the back of his throat. That got a reaction. Only instead of finally continuing to stroke Geralt’s hair, Emhyr froze and looked at him with a shocked expression. 

There was a hint of something in the air. Geralt pressed his nose to Emhyr’s bare neck to get a better whiff of it. He couldn’t quite place the smell, so he repeated the noise, allowing it to vibrate between them.

“Witcher,” Emhyr growled.

Nose against skin, Geralt inhaled deeply once more, ignoring the warning. He was fairly certain that Emhyr wouldn’t actually fight him now. “Would you like me to beg?” he murmured against Emhyr’s throat. It was too tempting to emphasise the question with an open mouthed kiss not to do it. “We’re still ways off the palace and the traffic is slow. We’d have time.”

Emhyr caught the hand reaching for the buttons of his doublet. “Not,” he pressed out. “Not here. Now.” Geralt could tell he was tempted nonetheless. “I will not take you inside a carriage like…” His mouth hardened, just as his grip on Geralt’s wrist tightened. “Like some illicit affair.”

That wasn’t a no. Nor a definitely not. “Tonight, then?” Geralt grinned at Emhyr. He’d have fun with this newfound knowledge. 

Emhyr let go of Geralt’s hand. “Tonight,” he promised. He resumed petting Geralt’s hair. “Will this mollify you for the time being? Seeing as it was your intended goal in the first place.”

“Mh,” Geralt rumbled. “‘s not bad.”

Emhyr chuckled. The sound vibrated under Geralt’s hand still on Emhyr’s chest. It made a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with their physical proximity.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you genuinely laugh,” Geralt sighed. “I like it.”

Emhyr stilled again, if only for a heartbeat. “‘More than being scratched behind the ears, White Wolf?”

“Hmmm, yeah, but it’s close.”

“You’re easy to please,” Emhyr observed. “Really, I had thought it much more difficult, seeing as how many have failed at the task.”

Geralt huffed. It wasn’t like many had tried before. He could count the people who’d cared or known how to care for his comfort on a single hand with fingers to spare. He tried his best to play it light. “Good food, a soft bed, occasional pets, and I’m happy.”

“I’m sure it takes a bit more than that.” Emhyr’s fingers found a spot that made Geralt melt and he had to bite his tongue not to moan or say something embarrassing like that he really was that easy to please. “If you were, I wouldn’t have to try to be a better man than I actually am.”

“For me?” The words were out before Geralt could stop himself. He had noticed Emhyr trying, but it had always been for Ciri and… he hadn’t noticed, not really noticed, that Emhyr was making an effort for him, too. 

“For you. For Ciri. Because I don’t see any reason not to anymore.” He sighed. “At least around family, I should be able to show I care.”

“I’m family?”

Emhyr shrugged. “To the law? No. To me? Yes. By virtue of being…” He swallowed. Pinched his nose with his free hand. “You are Ciri’s father, probably more so than I am, to her. You were always family. It merely took me until recently to realize that you might be the good kind of family.”

“Not the kind of family out to steal your throne for their own,” Geralt tried to joke.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t want to see your daughter on my throne.”

“Not particularly, no.” Geralt shrugged. He was still reeling from the fact that Emhyr had flat out admitted she was his daughter. “But she wants to. So I’ll do everything to help her.”

“You definitely shouldn’t let any court noble hear this. But maybe I should. Make it clear that I know your ambition and am in full support of it.” Geralt could almost hear the cogs of Emhyr’s mind turn. “Do you think Lord var Doirn is part of the conspiracy?”

It took Geralt a few seconds to catch up and give it some thought before he replied. “Not sure.” He pulled a face. “I’m pretty sure he’s really one of your supporters. But… I’m not sure that support extends to Ciri. It clearly doesn’t to me. He didn’t like my story, either. I thought it was a good one. It had monsters, which he didn’t like, folk magic, which he scoffed at, the Eternal Fire, which he rolled his eyes at, and a father trying to make amends, which he obviously thought was foolish.” He could practically feel Emhyr’s raised eyebrow without bothering to look up. “I told them about the Bloody Baron. What was his name… Philip Strenger. The one you left in charge of Velen? Well, I did leave out how Ciri saved him from and killed a griffin.”

“Ciri killed a griffin? On her own?”

“Ask her for the details, I’ve only got second hand knowledge of it myself.” Still, Geralt was proud. It couldn’t have been easy. She would have made a great witcher, in another, less imperial, life.

“I will. I might even commission a painting of the event to replace the horrid picture of her as a child in my study.” Emhyr hummed to himself. “She’d probably like that more.”

“Definitely.”

“Back to the matter at hand. Are you certain Lord var Doirn didn’t appreciate the, shall we say, similarity between my situation and your story?”

“Yeah. One of the others even pointed it out, something about how I have a soft spot for reuniting families, and he glared at me. I think he slipped up there so I pretended I didn’t see it.” Something about their talk in private suddenly stood out. He’d been so angry at the time, too angry to notice he’d accidentally been right. “Is there anyone, probably a woman, who thought she had a shot at you before… before Ciri decided to give you a last chance?”

“A number of them. There always are. Both those who delude themselves with tales of love and such nonsense, and those who do everything so it looks politically advantageous to allow them near power.”

“None of them stand out?”

“Not that I am aware.”

Geralt let out a thoughtful rumble. “We could cross any that have withdrawn their interest since Ciri arrived at court off the list. Whoever tried their hand, if I’m right, has to keep close. Maybe I should…” He moved away so he could look at Emhyr without straining himself too much. “You’re gonna be busy the rest of the day?”

“Geralt, do you intend to spy on our poor Lord var Doirn?” Emhyr pretended to look scandalized by the idea. He still nodded. “I’m afraid I will indeed be too busy to entertain you. Thus, I have no control over what you do or do not do. If you were to find your way to an address you find on my desk, for example, and gather information, that’d be all you.”

“Is that what you’ll tell Ciri?” The sounds of the city quieted outside as the carriage passed the palace gates.

“I will, yes. It was all your idea. I had nothing to do with it.”

Geralt snorted. He knew he’d been led into the suggestion. Not that he minded. Putting an end to this conspiracy was about protecting Ciri and he would stop at little to keep her safe.

When the carriage had stopped, he followed Emhyr back into the palace. Or rather, he tried to follow and was quickly pulled to stay by Emhyr’s side with a tight grip. Apparently, now that his allies knew, Emhyr was intent to show everyone they passed exactly how close he wanted Geralt. And they passed a surprising amount of people. Geralt hadn’t noticed that many people in the hallways of the palace before, not in the hallways he usually used to get around anyway. Emhyr had picked a route through the most public parts of the palace, which even forced him to stop occasionally when he couldn’t ignore the person wanting a quick word. Geralt stood next to him with a stony face for the brief conversations, pretending he didn’t understand the formal Nilfgaardian they were all speaking.

The anteroom before Emhyr’s public office was full of people, but to Geralt’s immense relief, they just brushed by them, without even having to pause in their strides as the guards opened the doors to the office immediately. Then, the doors closed and they were alone, if you ignored a fidgety Mererid, which Geralt was fully intent on doing.

There was a brief moment still, before Emhyr let go of Geralt’s hand.

Mererid was glaring daggers at Geralt once he was sure Emhyr wasn’t looking. Geralt merely grinned back at the chamberlain. There was nothing he could do at this point that would get him into the man’s good graces and he’d made his peace with that. Emhyr had walked over to his desk, where he scribbled on a small parchment. He let it dry for a second, before rolling it up and stepping back into Geralt’s personal space. The parchment changed hands quickly.

Emhyr then reached up to pull Geralt into a brief kiss, whispering against his lips, “Don’t let anybody see you.”

Geralt nodded. “See you tonight?”

“Until tonight, Geralt. I’m afraid I’ve dallied enough today.” Emhyr sighed, looking briefly at Mererid. “A servant will take you back to your suite, if you’d like.”

Geralt nodded thankfully. With a press on a stone inlaid into the desk, a servant was summoned. He entered through a unobtrusive side door, bowing deeply at Emhyr. 

“Take the Master Witcher to his rooms,” Emhyr ordered. “Not through the ante room.” A brief, tiny, smile. “I know how you detest the attention of court, Geralt.”

Geralt snorted. He couldn’t resist catching Emhyr for another kiss before he actually left, much to the dismay of Mererid. The servant led Geralt out the door he’d entered through, and then down nearly deserted hallways, apparently only frequented by servants. They also stared at him as he walked by, but had the decency to hide their curiosity at him, unlike the nobility. He could have sworn some of those had looked for a collar and leash on him, as if he was nothing more than an exotic pet.


End file.
